The World Shaker by Abby Dewsnup

Author:Abby Dewsnup [Dewsnup, Abby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2019-06-15T16:00:00+00:00

13

Ghost Stories

Jay’s Windwalker radio came in handy on our long trek across the plains. There were times when he and I laid on the deck, listening to the emerald song drone on and on for hours. Warren repaired the radio, re-doing Jay’s handiwork so the music came out smoother. I watched him pull out strange metal parts and put them back inside the box, but I’d never seen repairs like he was doing. Still, the action was kind.

I didn’t spot anything exciting until the second day, when the shoreline began to rise and fall in deformed rock formations. The sun was burning down on us, and we had resorted to sitting in suffering silence as our water supply shrank away. Roland was target practicing while Warren played with some mechanical parts I wasn’t familiar with. Jay leaned across the mast, wordlessly singing along with his radio.

You come back, but it’s all wrong — you light up the night just by blinking your eyes. When he leaves, it’ll be the eyes first, closing like the waning moon.

I leaned against the railing, watching the scenery go past. It was between the rocky hills that I spotted the Hanging Villages; groups of houses that grasped onto the cliffs from their foundations like bats in a cave.

I gaped at the view, leaning as far out of the boat as the railing would allow. “Those houses are upside down. The people must walk on their hands,” I shouted, pointing at the rocks.

Roland chuckled. “The houses are for show. The hanging villages are actually just for lava miners, but they sure do cause a stir with their architectural choices.”

Ignoring his words, I slid down the railing and put my chin in my hand, watching the villages pass by. “It’s incredible just how wrong our views are in the Caves. I grew up believing the Hanging Villagers walked on their hands.”

“You also thought the Windwalkers had actual wings,” Warren said with a shrug. “I made these myself, thank you very much.”

Jay stood next to me, studying the Hanging Villages with his usual heroic, valor-filled gaze. “Roland, suppose we stopped along the shoreline for the evening and used your daggers to spear a few fish?”

“Oh thank heavens. I’m not sure I could survive on those freeze-dried carrots for another meal,” Warren said.

Roland sighed. “I don’t think stopping for the night would be a great idea. We are nearing the Dark House, and I’d prefer not to anger the High Prince. We can stop to fish for an hour or so, but then we should be on our way.”

“The Dark House?” I asked.

“It’s another nickname for the Glass Cages,” Warren said with a shrug. “Always kind of freaked me out, those cages did.”

A thought occurred to me as he said the words. “Roland, if the Glass Cages are a tool used by the High Prince to craft soldiers and rule the Light Districts, then is the Creation from the Oracle Stones the same magic? Are they the same principles of re-shaping a person’s aura?”

Roland was silent, looking as if he was considering my words.

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